My Heart - Blog Posts

pro tip if you cant get the motivation to do studies: Just Turn it into Fanart

just finished watching the mandalorian

My heart dude

oh god.

(via fuckyeahsuperjunior)

the stage looks so empty.

(via fuckyeahsuperjunior)

omg, Heechul. :(

🎨

rewatching “the wedding squanchers” and i have a mini-theory that morty’s pep-talk actually did impact rick because he decided to finally try to move on

when morty first shames him for not being supportive of BP’s wedding and refers to it as his “big day,” rick references blood ridge as his actual “big day.” knowing what we know now, i fully believe that the reason he was so upset about BP’s wedding is not only because he loves him but because he’s been told that the “relationship” he and BP have is “not worth (his) integrity,” and then watched him give his life (and, arguably, his integrity) away to this seventeen year old girl who he would probably do anything for. that’s why it makes sense that he wouldn’t refute the fact that BP can be a dick in s5 ep8 (“why are you risking your life for that asshole?” “because you love him”) and why he refers resentfully to blood ridge as BP’s big day—he once chose fighting over rick, and now has done the opposite for tammy regardless of his remaining passion for the war. it wouldn’t track for rick to be saying this because he actually values the memory of blood ridge, considering how adamant he is about repressing it. i mean, he doesn’t even seem to enjoy the actual battle if you look at his facial expressions in s5 ep8:

morty’s speech is what actually lowers rick’s guard in the first place, no matter how much he would deny it; when morty says “this is your family and friends all around you, you know? take the day off. there’s nothing to run from—nothing to fight.” he’s unintentionally giving rick a distraction from the pain he’s dealing with watching this wedding happen. the “camera” pans to beth, jerry, and summer with the focus on them more than anyone else. it’s clear that rick is prioritizing the “family” part more than anything else, even though birdperson and squanchy are in the short clips we see.

even so, rick insults morty, claiming his pep-talk is just “lame advice (he) knows nothing about.” makes a lot of sense coming from a man who’s hopelessly in love with the groom and has never told any of his family members nor even said it out loud. since morty really is giving advice on an issue he doesn’t even know exists, you’d expect rick to keep being a dick until the end of the episode.

but rick DOES stop his grumbling. at the actual wedding ceremony, he doesn’t say a word but instead just groans sadly as birdperson says his vows. and, of course, his toast:

“i haven't been exactly subtle about how little i trust marriage. i couldn't make it work, and i could turn a black hole into a sun, so at a certain point, you’ve got to ask yourself: ‘what are the odds this is legit and not just some big lie we're all telling ourselves because we're afraid to die alone?’ because—you know—that's exactly how we all die: alone.”

strange coming from someone who (from the short clip we saw) did, in fact, manage to make marriage work with diane. rick’s skin is significantly lighter in the memory before diane’s death which (weirdly enough) symbolizes happiness/completion in this show (considering that was how the distinction was made between normal rick and healthy rick in rest and ricklaxation)

so why is rick talking about how horrible marriage is? the same reason for his actions after diane’s death: he didn’t go looking for a universe where she was alive but instead looked for vengeance and temporary distractions (this is exactly how his and BP’s friendship started, i’d like to point out), and the same reason he didn’t just go find a new BP after he was reassembled by the federation: even rick has moments where he values his relationships with people so much that he doesn’t want them to change, especially as a middle-aged adult who isn’t quite desensitized yet. in season five he tries to bring back that part of him, especially because of how much he loves birdperson. so the same way he knew going to find another BP was out of the question because he would have a different personality and perception of rick, going to find another diane was out of the question because she wouldn’t be the same one he loved.

rick believes that marriage is a trap because fate already has your future with the person laid out for you; getting attached ensures that you’ll be destroyed by this fate because there’s no way to escape when someone you love is involved.

but rick knows that he and BP are not the same. BP has not seen the horror of the multiverse, nor has he pushed everyone away to protect himself from being hurt.

understanding rick’s heavy contrast from BP in terms of their values, the last few lines of his speech make a lot more sense.

“birdperson is my best friend, and if he loves tammy, well, then I love tammy, too. to friendship, to love, and to my greatest adventure yet... opening myself up to others.”

so, basically: “as much as i hate watching you give your life to this girl, the main reason i love you in the first place is because of your strong sense of self-respect and commitment to the things you care about. so fine, i’ll let you go and hope she’s good to you.”

Minimalist San Moodboard >ᴗ<

Fucking K-Dramas!

I have come to the conclusion that there are no k drams  out there that will not leave me in fuckin g tears! FUCK!  And I thought the BBC was bad! This is about you, writers of MOON LOVERS: SCARLET HEART REYEO. Is a simple fluffy happy ending too much to ask for? You've turned me into sopping mess! I'm a horror movie buff for crying out loud! Fuck! Who introduced me to this genre? You're dead to me!

microfic may day 2: black

drarry. 277 words.

Harry had no idea how Draco drank his coffee like that. He thought it was abhorrent.

Even so, every morning at 6:00am, Harry Potter would peel himself out of bed and smile softly at the pile of blankets, tufts of blond locks and short puffs of breath that lay beside him. He’d take a moment to observe the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders before venturing downstairs and greeting their house with a gentle pat on the banister and familiar rap to the kitchen door.

He’d go through his motions: procure two mugs, set the kettle to boil, fiddle with the French press, measure out exactly 16 grams of coffee grounds and then he’d wait. God only knows what he’d think about until the kettle whistle would gently crescendo and Harry could carry on.

He’d traverse back up the stairs and back into their bedroom. He’d place a both mugs on the bedside drawer closest to Draco. Harry would wake him up with a caress and not a jolt, a feather press of lips, a gentle press to the curve of his shoulder.

And Draco would rise, golden like the light filtering through their curtains, and smile at Harry like he was glad he stayed. Even all these years later.

Harry would pass him his mug with a purposeful brush of their fingers and say, “Awful, awful stuff.”

Draco would only grin and reply, “It’s in my blood, don’t you think?”

And Harry would snort into his tea and hold his husband’s hand. He’d make a mental mark of exactly how many cups of black coffee he’d made but never drank.

2,537.

But who’s really counting?

As you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you’d woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn’t ignore you any longer.

oh home, let me come home, home is wherever I’m with you

I died I frickin died! Like can a one man do everything by themselves? Apparentely so. Love this animation, love this podcast.

GUESS WHAT BABEY IT'S LOVELACE ANIMATION TIME!!!

i've had this idea in my mind for years, and it took this long to finally have the skill and time to accomplish it. wolf 359 is forever ingrained in my uni rushing homework at 2am memories and it has such such such a special place in my heart. i taught myself quite a bit to make this video: rigging a harmony puppet, lighting effects, render settings (seriously, why are rendering settings such a hassle). anyway, i hope you like the video as much as i love wolf 359 and eris and lovelace! mwah!!

(also if you like what i do and want to support me, i'm super close to monetizing my channel, so even just watching the video will help a lot! i've also linked my kofi in the video description)

(also also, in case you didn't know, there are three extra videos about this project that go behind the scenes of how it's made! they're all up on the channel as well 💪)

“Yeah, I got one hitpoint.”

Bonus cuteness:

Memory

RaphaelxReader

Warnings: Amnesia, Angst

(this is so tropey and self indulgent that I was almost too embarrassed to post it, thank you @the-cauldron-witch for giving me the stones. Apologies in advance. 😅)

"What are you to me?"

You freeze, your pen stopping mid-letter. For the last week you'd been trying to figure out how to answer if he asked, and you were still at a loss. 

Don't think for him, Donnie'd said, the memories are there, he just has to form the connections. They'll be stronger, and this will go faster, if you let him do that on his own.

He knows he shouldn't be asking, but every time he looks at you he feels like he's missing something important, and the way you look at him sometimes... he can't bear it. 

"We should, um," you clear your throat, looking very intentionally at the paper in front of you, "we should really focus on this analysis. The more data we can feed Donnie, the sooner he can figure out of there'll be any serious lasting consequences to this." 

"I'm missing three years of my life, I'd say that's pretty serious," he quips, humorlessly. You still haven't looked up at him. Jaw tight, measured breaths the only thing keeping your hand steady. You'd been keeping it together for the last two weeks, you couldn't break now. Least of all in front of him. 

Six hours trapped in a reinforced refrigeration truck. He only survived because of what little body heat you could offer, but you'd both nearly died. You woke a few days later, in the infirmary, your hands still raw and recovering from frostbite, but Raphael... didn't. 

For fifteen days, no one knew if he was going to survive. You didn't sleep. You couldn't eat. You wouldn't leave his side. The number of arguments you and Donatello had about you resting were in the double digits. He might lose his brother, he wasn't going to lose his best friend, too. The only way you agreed was by dragging the couch beside the cot Raphael was laying in.  

When he awoke he couldn't remember much of anything. Slowly, over the course of the next week, memories drifted back like smoke. He remembered his father, his brothers, April, his best friend, Casey, that dumb ass, Vern, but not you. The last three years are still a blur and none of it makes any sense.

He looks at you like a familiar face at the grocery store. Like something is digging at the back of his mind, something important, but he can't quite place you. He looks at you with curiosity, even attraction at times, but the love that you built and fought for, through death and distance, is gone.

You inhale, before the pen begins to move again in your hand. He reaches up and stops it. 

"Y/N..." The familiar feeling of his hand around yours, his thumb gently brushing the hollow of your wrist, makes your chest ache and your eyes fall closed. 

Tears glitter at the seam of your eyelashes, as the words slip free unbidden, barely louder than a whisper, "I miss you..." 

His hand stills, there it is again. That feeling, understanding just outside his reach, he's pulled to you and he doesn't know why. Everything you do affects him, and right now, you're crying, and he would tear the world apart to see you smile again. 

You inhale sharply, pushing yourself to your feet and pulling your hand from his, leaving the pen on the table, "I need to go."

"Y/N, wait," he begs, quickly, standing, "please, I-" 

All of your faculties are being used to keep you in one piece. You don't even have the ability to attempt any kind of excuse. "I'll be back tomorrow night. We can finish the analysis then." You shove your laptop into your bag and zip it closed, slinging it over your shoulder, before you rush out of the lair to echoes of him begging you to stay. 

You barely make it home before you collapse by the couch and weep. Three years. Three years just gone. 

You pull the deep red blanket he made you last winter off the couch and wrap yourself in it, in him, in his scent, because it's the only thing of his you can wrap around you. 

You let yourself cry. Mourn. Since he woke up, you've been shoving everything down and away. 

This is not about you, you'd scolded yourself. 

You'd reminded yourself it must be worse for him. He's probably terrified, losing so much time must be scary as hell. And you'd kept it together. Every time he looked at you with that question in his eyes. Every time he said "hey" and kept walking. Every time he touched you... and let go. 

But you've reached your breaking point

The feeling of his hand on your wrist was so familiar, and you were pulled back into lazy evenings in bed, the sunset painting your skin, as the two of you found any excuse not to get up for work. Comfortable, safe, warm. Things you haven't felt since before all of this started. And it was all too much. 

Violent sobs rip through your body, as your heart rages in your chest. It's not fair. You'd already been through so much. Fought so hard. And, for him... none of it happened. The bone-deep love and connection that had become so vital to both of you, was ripped away, and you were the only one left bleeding. 

You don't notice the soft landing beside the window. 

He just stares at you for a moment. He's overcome with the need to catch you up, hold you to him, and do whatever he has to do to fix it.

"It's important, isn't it," he says finally, quietly, "what I can't remember."

You gasp and stand up, clumsily, hands flying to your eyes and wiping pointlessly at tears as you turn away, "You shouldn't be here." 

"See, I'm not so sure about that." He steps forward slowly, "because..." His eyes fall on a carved wooden rose, and he pauses. A craftsman can always recognize their work. His eyes begin to scan the dimly lit room around him. 

No photographs, but all around him are little things made by his own hands, his favorite books and movies, this place doesn't just feel familiar. It feels like home. His eyes return to yours as he continues his approach.

You fall back against the wall as he advances, "Does Donnie know your here? You really shouldn't be out running around the city by yourself. You're still recovering, it's not... safe." Your breath hitches as your back hits drywall. 

He takes your hand gently, holding it just like before, caressing the inside of your wrist. Your jaw clenches, and your eyes sting. As he invades your personal space, your body reacts on instinct, head tilting up, hand against his chest, and his responds, gripping your waist and pulling you into him, breathing in deeply a scent just on the edge of his memory. 

"That's what I'm missing, isn't it," he asks softly, tears darkening the fabric around his eyes, "that's what this feeling is... love." 

Your heart twists, and you can't breathe. You're trembling with loss and grief and you don't want him to stop. 

"I love you," he says, almost in wonder, holding your gaze. 

It's like a bullet to the chest and all the air rushes out of you. Tears stream freely from your eyes and you draw a shuddering breath. "You don't even know me," you say, and you swear you don't mean for it to come out as bitter as it does.

He flinches, stepping back, but not releasing your hand. The shame and guilt are instantaneous. None of this is his fault. You look down and away, unable to meet his amber eyes, "I- I'm sorry," you manage, "I-"

"You're wrong."

You look up through tears as he steps forward again, pulling you closer. A hand comes up and cups your cheek as the one around your waist tightens, and he looks down at you with an intensity you haven't seen in weeks. 

"I may not know your face, or remember... anything about you, but..." His eyes close and his hand slides into your hair as he dips his head and touches his forehead to yours, "I remember... this," he continues breathlessly, gripping your hair gently, "I remember this feeling... Your skin... against mine. Your scent..." 

It's there. He can feel it. Just beyond his reach. He's been grasping blindly. Needing you and not knowing why, needing to feel you under his hands, against him. 

The hand at your waist slides to your lower back, pulling you closer. "Help me," he pleads, eyes shut tight, all focus trained on you, voice thick with hope and desperation, "please... help me remember." 

Donatello's warnings burn to ash within your memory as his mouth claims yours in a searing kiss. 

It's clumsy at first. Demanding. Desperate. Like a dance he doesn't quite remember the steps to. He holds too tightly, moves too stiffly, but you open to him anyway, and a warm wave of sunlight flows into him. 

He was so cold. He's still so cold. He can't remember the truck but he can remember the cold. Seeping into him slowly. As time dragged on and his body heat waned he'd grown so tired so quickly. He could still feel it. Frost on his edges. He's tried everything. Heated blankets, hot showers, gallons of tea. He's been trying since he woke up, he just can't seem to get warm. 

But where his skin touches yours, it's like holding the sun. 

Your heat floods into him like warm, golden light. Like the dawn. Pouring into the deepest, coldest parts, and filling him completely with that feeling. Love. And there you are, beneath the melt. As vital and familiar as his own heartbeat.

His kiss softens, his hold becomes more sure, familiar. It takes you a moment, but you realize, between kisses, he's whispering, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He holds you the way he always has, and he kisses you the way he always has, and soon your crying too hard to kiss him back.

He holds you tight against him, pressing you against his chest, kissing your hair, apologizing over and over as if any of this is his fault. You cling to him desperately, afraid that if you let go it won't be real, that he'll forget you again. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, afraid that you'll be wrong, and you'll look up into his, and you'll find only questions.

His hold tightens and his eyes burn. He's angry. This is unacceptable. Unfair. He got played, and he was supposed to die in that truck. What the Oroku fuckers didn't count on, what they never count on, is you. You'd pressed yourself against him, sharing what little warmth you could. By the time the others found you, both of you were unconscious and hypothermic, but still alive, Raphael's large body wrapped tightly around yours. You'd kept his heart beating. Just like always.

He pulls back and attempts to raise your chin to meet his eyes. You resist. He can smell your fear, feel the pounding of your heart under his fingertips.

He rests his head against the side of yours and speaks your name softly, in the same voice that has pulled you peacefully from sleep a thousand times. Another sob escapes you and you curl into him tightly, before a few moments pass and you unfurl, your eyes raising to meet his. 

The weight of his gaze settles on you and you never thought you could be grateful to see such depths of pain within him, but within the pain was... everything else. From the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy, every moment of the last three years was a storm inside his eyes.

You can see the naked rage, swirling in the tempest, and it mirrors your own. Those responsible would be dealt with, later. Now, you reach back behind him, and he dips his head to make it easier for you to remove his mask. You toss it aside, and he presses his forehead to yours. You rest your hands on either side of his face, tracing the familiar scars, and you can feel his shuddering exhale. 

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"Raphael-"

"I didn't mean to-" His breath catches on a sob, and you pull him tighter against you. Burying his head in your shoulder, he wraps his arms around your waist and breathes deep. If scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, he would bury himself in you. He would never forget again. 

....

I know this isn't how amnesia works, okay??? I KNOW the plot here is swiss cheese!!! but it got stuck in my head and now you have to deal with it too, so there.

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15

*through gritted teeth and weepy eyes*

It's fine, I'm fine.

I don't need a heart.

Toooootally fine

“Future you would be so proud on how far you’ve come.” …. “We all make mistakes, but that’s what makes you person.”

“You learn and develop over time, don’t be TOO hard on yourself okay??”

🫢🤯🥹

This…this literally blew me away like…I have no words to express how beautiful this is…

I Want Something Just Like This

Collaboration with the lovely @tapakah0 thanks for working with me ｡(TヮT)ﾟ｡

@somerandomdudelmao hope you feel better soon Cass ( -_-)＼(0-0 )

Song: Something Just Like This by Coldplay and The Chainsmokers

Just a little something I came up with while reading my scriptures today.

thanks for @saspas-corner for being my personal adviser in designing it 🧡☝🏼

Ace you’ve flippin done it again. Gone and made me feel things like UGG MY FLIPPIN HEART!!!

People please hug your strong friends. They’re tired from holding up the weight of their worlds 😭

So desperate it hurts

Previous | Next

Ah, I love the struggle..

I’m not crying you are 🥹🧡❤️💜💙

@somerandomdudelmao... Lately I just don't have words, I just smile constantly... They did it... Song: Bastille - Pompeii

Anyone gonna mention that here thanks to the beautiful (aNd InCreDibLy PaInFuL) work of @somerandomdudelmao that we see THE Donnie, who is known to be touch adverse most of the time, is so scared, hurt, frustrated, lonely (what other Donnified adjective that fits) is not only actively ReAcHiNg, but using whatever little strength he has to get to Casey, to HOLD him as fast as he can.

Anyone? Or is that just me?

*cries in comment section* YALL UNDERSTAND WHAT PEEPAW LEO IS SAYING HERE RIGHT!?

HES SAVING THE WORLD BUSY BECAUSE CASEY IS HIS WHOLE WORLD. THAT IS HIS SON😖❤️‍🩹💙🙌🏼😭

This family has a chokehold on my heart and it ain’t letting go anytime soon.

Also Donnie is afraid of emotional contagion change my mind

Part 4!

I love the "parent sits at the kid's bedside all day" trope, but Leo has a whole bunch of people he has to worry about :т

Also, I know that their size compared to each other is constantly changing. Do I want to monitor this more closely? Nope

Part 1

*openly weeps*

Guys…they did it. They finally did it. They had the talk. They had the hug.

I’ve been waiting for so long 🫢😖🤧😭🙌🏼💙🧡✨

"You're not a bad person-- you're young. And you're doing your best"

read the latest chapter of T&E this morning... it's gotta be my fav future Leo fic

under the cut: a glitch with the background that I thought looked cool as well

Just… gimme a minute… y’all. These two need to have this conversation. These two have gone through so much and to see this drawn so beautifully AND with a written snippet just ugggggg my heart.

I need a hug yall, these feelings getting too intense to keep dealing with by myself 😆😅😭💔💙✨

The hologram of his loved one sizzled softly in silence till the blue light disappeared, leaving the stars twinkling sadly before them. Casey can only feel his throat closed up with a choking sob yet no sound comes from it but the gentle sniffles of grief. Grief, he almost laughed, grief is supposed to be something that happens once in a while yet for him it’s everyday, for him it’s Master Raph, for him it’s Master Donnie, for him it’s his loving mom, for him it’s Commander O’neil, for him it’s Master Michelangelo, for him…it’s Master Leonardo, and now everyone until he is the only sole evidence his world exists. He doesn’t want to get attached to this world, to the people who are still living, and breathing and so alive because inevitably- they will disappear, just like everyone who he loved in his life. “You know…” the young Leonardo spoke uncharacteristically, without charisma, without energy, without anything that made Leo Leo. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose everyone in one day.” he whispered, the turtle’s hand still holding onto Casey in a reassuring manner with his gaze still stuck on where his holographic future-self used to be “But I know what it’s like to grieve.” he chuckled tiredly, Casey could only lean close yet he still refuse to look at Leo “There was this line dad said when he finally opened up his trauma to us.” a silent pause took place for a moment, until he continued “There is a type of love that is only experienced through sadness, and a type of joy that is only experienced through grief.” In the cold wind and the gentle lullaby of twinkling lights, his eyes slightly widen. “Pain is the price that we pay for love, and the only way to not feel pain is to never feel love.” Casey finally looked at Leo, his sole reason on wanting to get rid of these fond feelings when he sees this worlds’ family, the feeling of where Raph will teach him how to wrestle, where Donnie will rant about science, where his mom will call him into crazy adventures, where Mikey will make him eat different types of food, where April will teach him about the outside human world, where Splinter will let him watch TV with him, or where Leo will make so many bad and cringey jokes. Where everything made Casey so happy. “But love is what makes life meaningful, so don’t stop loving Casey.” “Because we sure hell will never stop loving you.” Casey felt safe arms around him, hugging him in such a familiar way it made him finally burst. To cry out how unfair the universe is to him, how unfair that he has to grow up in a time with no rest, with no moment of clarity, with no moment to tell everyone he loves that he misses them, he misses them so much. Leo didn’t say anything anymore, yet his soft hums will tell Casey- ‘I’m here, we are here, we will not leave you anymore.’ And for a moment, and maybe tomorrow, that would be enough for him to keep on smiling, to keep on being genuinely happy, to keep holding on. ‘Anatawa Hitorijanai.’ He could hear Master Leonardo whisper to him. ‘Anatawa Hitorijanai.’ ———————————— (some lines here are from Cinema Therapy because those guys can make me cry like a lil bitch, so anyways, we need more angst fuel for my boy Casey cus my man needs to reach his angst potential like our turtle bois >:((( )

(I also apologize if there is typos, its been long since i ever type a long ass story!!) 

He needs this. I think honestly we all do 🥺💙💔❤️‍🩹🙌🏼

I am not immune to Future!Leo angst.

Howdy Friends! I updated my "A Little Ninja's Mission" story a wee bit and put it on Archive of our own. Here's the link if you wanna check it out.